


Five Times Phil Coulson Got An Awful Christmas Tie (And One Time He Got Five)

by nerdwegian



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2814758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdwegian/pseuds/nerdwegian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We felt you should have this, sir," Natasha says, like whatever's in the box is of the utmost importance--and then she promptly ruins the whole thing by letting one corner of her mouth twitch a little in amusement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Phil Coulson Got An Awful Christmas Tie (And One Time He Got Five)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to chaneen and sinope for the excellent (and super fast) betas.
> 
> Thank you to the feelstide mod for working with me when I was a failure at everything. <3
> 
> Written for the feelstide prompt: "Every year, Phil gets a horrible new novelty Christmas tie courtesy of his two death traps of agents that make up the Delta Strike team. This is the story of what those ties have seen."

1\. The one with the reindeer.

They're in the tiniest podunk town in South Dakota, where Clint and Natasha have just completed a seven-month undercover gig, when Phil gets the first tie. They're walking down Main Street, Phil's mind pleasantly empty but for the thought that he'll soon be out of the cold, and in their warm, quiet safehouse, when Clint suddenly stops and elbows Natasha in the side.

"What?" she asks, sounding vaguely cranky, because Phil knows that she hates the cold almost as much as she hates South Dakota in general.

Phil turns just in time to see Clint grin wickedly at her, and her answering grin should be cause for concern, except it's getting dark outside, the Christmas lights look serene against the backdrop of a snow-covered street, and Phil feels happy. He figures if his two assets are going to blow something up, he'll find out and deal with it soon enough. For now, he's riding the high of a mission well done, and the thought of curling up in his bed with a cup of tea and a good book.

Clint and Natasha duck into the store they're standing outside of, heads together and giggling like children. Phil breathes deeply, reveling in the fresh air, and smiles politely at a man passing by.

When Clint and Natasha re-emerges a few moments later, they've both got their Serious Agent faces on, and _that_ more than anything makes Phil suspicious.

Handing him a small package, gift-wrapped in red and white, Clint clears his throat. "Merry Christmas, sir."

Phil stares at the package.

"Are we doing gifts?" he asks, raising his eyes again to squint at Clint and Natasha. Their Serious Agent faces remain in place.

"We felt you should have this, sir," Natasha says, like whatever's in the box is of the utmost importance--and then she promptly ruins the whole thing by letting one corner of her mouth twitch a little in amusement.

Phil regards the two of them for another moment, before pulling his hands out of his pockets in order to take the box from them. He immediately starts unwrapping it, tearing into the paper.

"Hey, hey," Clint protests, "it's not Christmas yet!"

"Too late," Phil says smugly, "you gave it to me, which means it's mine now, which means I can do with it as I please."

Clint and Natasha exchange glances, but don't make any further comments as Phil finishes unwrapping his present.

The box inside contains a rolled up tie, and Phil tilts his head curiously at it. Crumpling the wrapping paper and stuffing it into his pocket, he grabs one end of the tie and lifts it up, letting it unfold--and then he doesn't quite know what to think.

"Um," he says.

The tie is in a terrible olive green that clashes violently with the red--for a given value of the color red--stripes, decorated with sparkly snowflakes. The edges are lined with white felt that might possibly be supposed to look like snow, but doesn't at all match the sparkly snowflakes. At the bottom of the tie, there are two cartoon reindeers having enthusiastic sex, while facing the viewers. A tiny Santa hat hangs off the tip of an antler.

"Merry Christmas, sir," Clint and Natasha say in unison, and then, the little fuckers, tilt their heads towards each other and give Phil a blinding grin. Phil narrows his eyes at them. There is just _no way_ they didn't rehearse that move.

Phil regards them both for several long seconds, before stuffing the tie in his pocket. "Let's get inside," he tells them, and they both mock-salute him.

He surprises them, later on, after they've settled into their safehouse, by emerging from the bedroom with a book in one hand, his travel mug in the other, and the god-awful tie around his neck. It's a good look on them, Phil thinks. He doesn't often get to catch his team like this.

"Uh," Clint says from the couch, blinking owlishly.

Natasha, much less obvious in her surprise from where she sits next to Clint, merely follows Phil with her eyes as he walks to the chair and opens his book.

Phil doesn't comment, but he lets himself smile into the pages.

By the time they're picked up, Phil's changed into a normal tie again, and he's made sure the reindeer tie is nowhere to be seen. If Clint and Natasha wonder, they don't bring it up. When he gets home, he puts it in the back of his bottom right drawer, and doesn't question why he can't bring himself to throw it out.

*

2\. The one with the lights.

They dress in silence, Phil sneaking glances at Clint in the mirror. He's gone with the charcoal suit and the subtly purple tie, and it makes him look--

Phil looks away, looking down at his own outfit. The shirt doesn't fit him exactly, making him look much less muscular and a little paunchy around the middle. The pants are a shade of navy blue that just barely clashes with the shirt, and Phil frowns.

"How did I end up as the dorky one?" he wonders out loud, reaching for the tie on the night stand.

"Because nobody would buy me as dorky, and dorky is adorable," Clint immediately shoots back. "Hey, wait."

"Hm?" Phil asks, still distracted by how Clint had basically called him adorable.

"I got you something," Clint smirks, digging into his bag and pulling out a small lump of fabric, throwing it to Phil. "Here."

Phil unrolls the tie, mouth dropping open in horror. "No."

"You love it," Clint says, snickering.

The Christmas tree adorning the front of the tie has actual, working lights. Phil narrows his eyes at Clint.

"Chop chop," Clint just says happily. "Let's go play hosts to a political piranha."

Phil sighs heavily and pretends he's not watching Clint's ass as Clint leaves the room.

*

The Deer Lake gated community is quiet, reserved, and full of gossip hounds. Phil opens the door to their borrowed $2 million dollar home, and smiles as winningly as he can. "Welcome!" he tells their guests, gesturing inwards. "Come in, come in, welcome to our home!"

"Oh, this is just _lovely_ ," Mrs. Knepp breathes, clearly lying straight through her overly bright veneers.

"Yes, yes," Mr. Knepp agrees, looking around as they stomp snow from their boots. "Nice place. Love what you've done with it."

"A little more shabby chic than the Watsons', wouldn't you say?" Mrs. Knepp asks her husband slyly, before turning her sugary sweet smile back on Phil. "Wonderful. And what an amazing tie."

Phil doesn't blush through sheer force of will; the tie Clint gave him kind of makes him want to set himself on fire, but he can't deny that it fits his undercover persona well.

"Thank you," he says instead, proudly, "it was a gift."

Phil doesn't let the smile waver on his face; he just helps them get their outerwear off, then leads the way into the massive livingroom. "This is my husband Clint," he says, and Clint gets up off the couch to shake the Knepps' hands, bringing out his most charming smile. Frankly, it's enough to make Phil's knees go a little wobbly, and he doesn't have to fake the smitten look he gives his "husband."

"Mr. and Mrs. Knepp," Clint says in greeting. "So nice to meet you."

Just as predicted, Mrs. Knepp's eyes practically light up. They had predicted this of course, because Mrs. Knepp sees people only as opportunities and _things_ to advance her own career and social standing, nothing else. "Husband, you say?" she asks, intrigued now. "How long have you been together?"

"Oh," Phil says, pretending to think.

"What is it now, like fifteen years?" Clint asks, looking at Phil.

And Phil nods and agrees, "Give or take, probably, yes."

"Wonderful, wonderful," Mrs. Knepp says, mostly to herself it seems, and Phil can practically see the wheels turning in her head. "And you're the one who gifted this tie?"

"I sure am," Clint says, and Phil suspects the obvious pride in Clint's voice isn't fake. "Give him one every year. Phil here keeps telling me he doesn't like 'em, but look at his face, though. Come on, he lives for these kinds of things."

And Phil, resolutely not thinking about the newest Alexander McQueen tie he had to leave behind when he went undercover, smiles widely and nods at Clint. "You got me," he says sheepishly, before turning back to Mrs. Knepp. "Look," he says, waving the end of the tie towards her, and gleefully noting how she nearly flinches as the blinking lights approach her face. "It's just such a _fun_ tie."

"Yes," she says, lying again, and Phil can tell Clint is suppressing a laugh. "Well. I think we'll be fast friends. You seem to have a lovely relationship."

Clint's smile softens at the edges then, and he steps closer to Phil, lacing their fingers together. "It certainly is," he says, and for a moment he sounds so sincere that Phil loses his breath a little. "Not sure how I got so lucky."

"I'm not sure how you got this lucky either," Phil says winningly, and as predicted, Mrs. Knepp's head tilts back in an exaggerated laugh.

"Oh you," she says, giggling. Next to her, Mr. Knepp is still looking around.

"All right, all right," Clint says, mock disgruntled. "I think the roast should be done by now. How about we sit down for a nice meal, hm?"

"Roast?" Mr. Knepp asks, interest piqued. "That sounds good."

An hour later, the roast is devoured, they're all a little loose with wine, and Mrs. Knepp leans over the table and says, "You know, I'm having a little get-together this weekend, just a small, private political fundraiser. We'd love to have you over, if you're interested?"

Phil and Clint lean into each other, and nod in tandem, because they both recognize an in when they see one. "We'd love to," Phil says honestly.

"And you should wear one of your--interesting ties," Mrs. Knepp says.

Phil's grin is glued to his face as he says, "Certainly."

He's already plotting his revenge against Clint for this.

*

3\. The one with Santa.

"Clint," Phil says, and he sounds frantic, he knows, but he can't help it. "Clint, Clint, look at me, can you--Clint?"

Clint looks up at the sky and blinks snowflakes out of his eyelashes. Even his blinking is slow, sluggish, and Phil brushes more snow from Clint's cheeks, trying hard not to think about the blueish tint to Clint's skin.

"I've got him," Phil says into his comm link, "I've got Agent Barton, need medical evac immediately at my coordinates, right now, right the _fuck_ now."

He sounds panicked and scared, he realizes, but it's better, it's better when Natasha's the one on the other end of the line, sounding not quite as calm as usual, but definitely calmer than Phil. "We're on our way, Coulson. Hang tight. ETA six minutes."

Clint blinks up at the sky again, and then finally his eyes slide over just a little to settle on Phil. "Phil," he says, slowly.

"It's me," Phil agrees, not sure when he became _Phil_ , not sure when Clint became _Clint_. "Come on, we gotta get you warm, gotta--"

The snow is brown-red with blood. When Phil shifts Clint, Clint groans loudly and brokenly, and fresh blood pumps out, melting the snow a little, before immediately cooling. "Shit," Phil cusses. "Shit."

Clint's so pale.

"Think I'm," Clint starts, then pauses for several seconds. "Think I'm not doing so hot."

His mouth twitches in a fake ghost of a smile. "Not so hot. Get it?"

"Yeah," Phil says, frantically digging through his sack for something he can use as a tourniquet. He doesn't have much with him. What he comes up with, though, is the tie Clint and Natasha had presented him with only two days prior. He hadn't meant to bring it, but he hadn't had anywhere else to put it, and he still can't bring himself to throw away their gifts, even when they're tacky and awful.

"I'm sorry, Clint," Phil pants, getting the tie out and carefully shifting Clint's leg. "I'm sorry, I have to stop the bleeding. Slow it. Whatever."

Clint looks down a little, groaning again and wincing as Phil works. "Is that--the tie?" Clint asks, and his words are slurring a little.

"Yeah, sorry," Phil says, apologetically, even though he's not actually sorry at all. He'd sacrifice any tie to save Clint, even the fancy Ferragamo tie Fury had given him for his birthday that year.

"Would like to spend Christmas," Clint mutters, breathes, eyes slipping shut, "on Christmas--Island..."

"Clint," Phil says insistently, hand coming up to touch Clint's cheek. "Clint, eyes open. Eyes open, come on."

The tie Phil's tied around Clint's leg is adorned with a bare chested Santa, wearing bermuda shorts, sunglasses, his Santa hat, and holding a drink. The speech bubble from Santa's mouth is made of felt, and says, _Would you like to spend Christmas on Christmas Island._ Blood is already staining it, slowly seeping into the fabric and tinting Santa in red, red, red.

When the Quinjet arrives, Phil's head is on Clint's chest and his hands are fisted into Clint's jacket, eyes closed as he takes in the shallow breaths Clint's still managing, telling himself over and over that Clint is still alive.

Phil spends the next weeks at Clint's side as he's treated for hypothermia, as he goes through physical therapy, as he recovers.

"Shame about the tie, though," Clint says one day, around a mouthful of food in the SHIELD cafeteria.

"It was my favorite," Phil agrees solemnly, and part of him isn't even lying. That dumb tie helped save Clint's life. It'll always be his favorite.

*

4\. The one with the mistletoe.

"Hey," Clint says, as he meets Phil and Natasha in the hallway. "You guys headed back out again?"

"No." Natasha sighs, rolling her eyes. "Not yet. Thank god. But I have to be on a plane in two days."

"California, though," Clint insists. "Warm. Nice."

"Stark," Natasha counters.

"How bad can the guy be?" Clint asks, shrugging, and making Phil's eyebrows climb upwards.

"What a jinx," he tells Natasha, giving her a sideways look.

"I'm going home," Natasha says. "I have to prepare myself for being bogged down by Stark brand sleaze."

"Have a good night," Phil tells her, smiling fondly as she steps around them, pausing to kiss Clint's cheek, and then disappears.

"So," Clint asks, smiling. "California, huh?"

"Never a dull moment," Phil says, suddenly feeling a little awkward, a little shy. "Are you--?"

"Oh," Clint says, gesturing a little. "I'm about to head out, too. I was, I was wondering if maybe you, if we, if you wanted to join me for dinner?"

Phil's heart skips a beat in his chest and he doesn't even try holding back his smile. "Yeah," he agrees, happiness blossoming in his chest and warming him. "That would be really nice."

For a split second, Clint's grin is absolutely blinding, and then he's suddenly digging in his pocket. "Oh, uh, we were so busy this last Christmas, I forgot to give you this."

Phil sighs good naturedly and as expected, Clint digs out a horrific Christmas tie. The mistletoe adorning the end is sticking out from the tie, made with pipe cleaners and felt, and Clint spends a couple of seconds straightening it, before holding it up to show Phil. "Merry Christmas, Phil."

Phil's trying hard not to laugh. "Christmas was months ago," he tells Clint.

"Eh, details," Clint says dismissively. Then his smile turns sly, and he inches closer to Phil, holding the tie up above their heads. "Look at that, sir," he says, unapologetically cheesy. "Mistletoe."

"Sneaky," Phil remarks, but he's smiling all the while. "Did you plan this?"

"Of course I planned this," Clint scoffs, gesturing with the hand that's not holding the tie. "I've waited _years_ for you to get the fucking hint, and nothing was working, so I figured if this doesn't do the trick, nothing will. Now are you gonna kiss me, or what?"

Phil leans in, feels Clint's breath on his face, and lets the laughter bubble out of his chest, "Well, if there's _mistletoe_ ," he teases, and then touches his lips to Clint's.

*

5\. The one with the gift wrap.

The hallways are quiet and dark, the music down in the hangar just a very faint thumping in the background, as Skye crosses her arms and glares at Phil.

"Glare all you want," Phil tells her, not looking up from the documents on his desk. "It still doesn't change anything."

"AC," Skye whines in a tone that's more reminiscent of the girl she was when he first met her, rather than the agent she is now, before she turns serious again. "Phil. You need a break."

Phil's lips thin. "I can't," he tells her, again, same as he's told her so many times before. "There's too much to do."

"We're asking for maybe an hour of your time," Skye says, eyes turning slightly sad. "This isn't all on you, you know."

"It's not the right time," Phil says. "A Christmas party is--"

"--just what we need," Skye says firmly. "This year has been shitty, okay? It's been _really_ shitty, and we just need _one_ evening to decompress a little, to--"

" _I_ don't," Phil snaps, harsher than he intended. He's got agents out there, good agents, on the ground and alone and in hiding, and he needs to find them. Needs to let them know that there's still a home for them here, where they're rebuilding SHIELD from the ground up. "I don't need to decompress." What he needs is--

"Go away," he snaps at Skye, his mind cloudy and his heart heavy, and her face turns sour and hurt, before she shuts it all away and nods stiffly.

"Yes, sir," she says curtly, and she's angry with him, he can tell, but at least she doesn't slam his office door when she leaves.

As soon as she's gone, however, guilt settles in his gut, heavy and horrible. He looks hard at the file in his hands. Clint's face stares back at him. Last he heard, Clint was staying with a contact in Rome. He could go get him, Phil knows, but Clint's not in immediate danger, which makes him low on the priority list. Plus, if Phil is to be completely honest with himself, he doesn't know how Clint will react, and Phil feels--scared.

He misses Natasha, he misses Clint, he misses Fury and Maria, and he's still bitter and mourning the agents he lost to the other side, to Hydra, both old and new friends and acquaintances.

Then Phil thinks about Skye and the new family he's built here, and he feels even worse for snapping at Skye.

Sighing, he looks at Clint's face, then looks at the map of the few, active SHIELD bases they've still got.

Phil's lost so much over the last two years. He wonders what Clint would say if he knew Phil wasn't doing his best to keep what he's still got left.

Standing up, Phil goes to his quarters and digs through his closet until he finds what he's looking for. The tie was a gift from Clint and Natasha, of course, but he's never had a chance to wear it. He feels like tonight is a good night for it, and he doesn't even feel ridiculous as he slips the Dolce silk from around his neck to replace it with the novelty tie.

Skye's face when Phil shows up to the Christmas party after all, wearing a bright blue and yellow Christmas tie, with a big, red ribbon looping around it to end in a big bow at the bottom, is priceless.

And if the Christmas party is missing someone, at least Phil still has the tie.

*

+1. The one with the pattern.

When Clint arrives on base, he moves straight into Phil's quarters, glaring at Skye when she raises her eyebrows, and glaring harder at Bobbi when she snickers at him.

The first month is spent having short conversations and long fights, and it's hard. It's very hard. But then, gradually, the talks get longer and the fights get shorter, and one day they're on the verge of another blowout fight, when Clint sighs and drops his hands and says, "Phil, I just _missed_ you, and I'm so _angry_ ," and it's the first time either of them have actually used actual words to express emotion. It takes Phil by surprise, but a moment later they're kissing, so he can only conclude it's a good thing.

By the time spring turns to summer, everyone has gotten used to Clint's presence in their bunker. Their ranks have grown, several new and old agents joining them, and Phil tries to remember all the lives they've saved when his heart feels heavy for all the ones they've lost. Phil and Clint have settled into something that's reminiscent of what they had before--before everything--and Clint's making vague noises about rejoining the rest of the Avengers on missions.

"You can go if you want to," Phil says, even though it's completely unnecessary. Of course Clint knows he can go if he wants to.

"They're good guys," Clint says, shrugging. "And Natasha's there."

"I know you want to," Phil points out.

"Do _you_ want to?" Clint asks, and Phil waves him off with a dismissive gesture.

"Irrelevant."

"Never," Clint insists, climbing into Phil's lap and pulling him in for a kiss.

"World saving trumps clingy boyfriend," Phil murmurs against Clint's lips, taking in his warmth, his strength.

"Yeah, you're the worst," Clint teases, and Phil's eyes are closed, but he can practically hear the eye roll anyway. "The clingiest. Won't ever leave me alone."

"So I don't want to let you go," Phil says, but deliberately keeping his tone light. "Sue me."

"Well, if it helps any, the feeling's kinda mutual," Clint says, although Phil knows Clint will go anyway. It makes his chest tight, and he's only distracted when Clint climbs off his lap, saying, "In fact..."

Phil frowns. "Hm?"

Clint grins wickedly at him.

Sixteen minutes later, Phil's naked and spread eagle, tied to the bedposts, tacky Christmas ties at his wrists and ankles. His erection is leaking against his belly, as Clint stands above him and admires his work.

"Having fun?" Phil asks with an arched eyebrow, going for casual and missing by about a mile.

"It's a nice sight," Clint muses, nodding. "I have a new tie for you, you know."

"You do?" Phil asks, surprised.

Clint, somehow being magic, produces a tie from his back pocket. It's not nearly as awful as past Christmas ties, but it's got an overly busy pattern of red and green wreaths, with a violently clashing purple bow.

"I'm already all tied up, though," Phil says, looking towards his wrists. It's not like he can't get out, of course, but he's perfectly happy to let Clint have his fun, to let Clint demonstrate with pieces of their history together that they belong to each other and aren't going anywhere, even though they've got long months ahead of them.

"I know," Clint says, and then leans in to blindfold Phil.

Phil lets him, trusts Clint implicitly, and doesn't mind the darkness.

"There," Clint says when the tie is secure in place. "Perfect."

"You know," Phil tries sensibly, "it's not even Christmas."

"Shush," Clint retorts, smile evident in his tone. "I'm making up for lost time."

Warm, wet heat engulfs Phil, and the air rushes out of his lungs. "I'm okay with that," he says happily.

Clint doesn't respond; he's busy.

End.


End file.
